A moment later, he leans down and whispers into my ear.“Don’t look now, but I think that the woman with the Birkin bag has a rat inside it.”
We spendthe rest of the trip people-watching and then on the walk to my apartment and the ride in the elevator, Silas quizzes me on how fast I can get to any of the landmarks in New York.
“Central Park?”
“Mmm...half an hour, depending on where in the park.”
“Rockefeller Center?”
“Twenty-five minutes.That’s where I work.”
“No shit?”
“It’s not likeThirty Rock.”
I open the door to my apartment and Silas whistles.“This is your place?Wow.”
I get the impression he’s being overly generous.Or he wants to be impressed.My place is pretty small compared to his—a cramped one-bedroom on the fourth floor that unfortunately looks directly out at the building across the street.
My main room is an open galley kitchen with stools at the counter, a decently large couch and a TV, and then at the far side by the window is my office.There’s a nook where my desk sits and a bookshelf opposite it.
To the left is my bedroom, which Silas walks into and sets his backpack on the bed, then comes back out, taking everything in.His eyes linger on my office nook, the bookshelf crammed with business and sci-fi books, the framed photo of me and my college roommates at graduation.
“Where does Hunter sleep when he visits?”
“The couch folds out.”
He eyes the space, and I can see him calculating the logistics.The pullout would basically block the whole room.
“My place is small,” I say, a touch of defensiveness creeping into my voice.“But it’s just me, so why bother with anything bigger?”
“Hey.”Silas crosses to me in two strides and pulls me into his arms.“I like your place.It’s very you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Organized.Efficient.That desk set up by the window is genius—natural light but you’re not staring at a wall.”He grins.“Plus I spotted the Murderbot books on that shelf, so clearly you have excellent taste.”
Despite myself, I laugh.“You noticed the books?”
“I notice everything about you.”He bends down to press a kiss underneath my ear, and it sends a shiver up my spine.“But my favorite thing about your home,” he murmurs against my skin, “is that I’m about to fuck you in it.”
Silas
Bailey’s apartmentis set up so that in the morning, when she has to log into her meeting, I can stay in my underwear and relax on her couch without her colleagues seeing me.
And by relax I mean put the finishing touches on the photos from the boudoir session.I kick my feet up onto her L-shaped sectional and set my laptop in my lap.It’s not as fun as when I have my dual monitors, but it’ll do for now.
I’ve worked on these photos every chance I could get.Every spare moment.All those late nights when I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about her back in the city.I’ve spent hours perfecting the lighting, adjusting the shadows, bringing out the warmth in her skin—not because they needed it, but because I needed to see her again.
So much that Hunter asked if something was wrong because he hadn’t seen me at On the Rocks all week.
I could not tell my best friend that I’d rather look at pictures of his mostly naked sister than lose to him in darts.That I’ve memorized each curve, expression, moment of vulnerability she trusted me with.That these aren’t just photos—they’re proof that she let me see her.
Bailey’s in a dress shirt that hides the hickey on her collarbone and she fixed her hair and makeup.From the waist down, though, she’s wearing these hot little booty shorts.You’d think after our sexfest last night and this morning I’d be too worn out to be getting hard again, but here I am ten minutes before her call wondering if I have enough time to eat her out again.
Probably not.Or at least, not enough time to do it justice.She sets up for her call and I console myself with the picture of her on the porch.
After half an hour, though, I find that I’m not making any progress on the edits because I am so much more fascinated by what Bailey’s doing.